I'll Be Home For Christmas
by mabelreid
Summary: Set Season 12 It's the day after Christmas and Reid's waiting in the airport for his flight home when he bumps into a woman who will change his outlook on his life and give him a second chance at love.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: Please see my profile_**

Reid hurried along the long walkway at McCarran Airport to his gate. He wove around the crowds of people that populated the airport, trying to avoid bumping into strangers, but failing. He slipped around a couple that had hold of two young children, and their carryon luggage.

"Great idea, Bob," said the mother in the general direction of the haggard looking man in a suit and overcoat. "You just had to fly home for Christmas."

Their voices blended into the hum of the crowd that reminded him of a swarm of bees on a sweltering summer day. It rose and fell as he slipped between a grey-haired woman limping with a cane toward Gate 18 and a young man dressed in a red and green sweater, ragged jeans, and brown shoes, with a green knapsack over his shoulder.

Reid dodged right around three teenage girls that giggled when they saw him and went left toward Gate 20. Someone said something over the PA system, but it was garbled and drowned out by the crowd that moved ceaselessly like the tide in the ocean. He looked right, turned, and ran straight into a woman heading in the opposite direction.

Her purse fell, and she dropped her carry-on. "Oh, I'm _so_ sorry," he said and handed her the bag as she bent to pick up her purse.

"No, it's my fault," she responded.

They stared at each other as people milled around them. She was young about ten years his junior with blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes were hazel and almond shaped in a round face. She stood about five-ten and was what some would call plump as he thought she carried around thirty pounds of extra weight, but she wore glasses like Garcia which made him happy for some strange reason.

"Um, I'll just get out of your way. Sorry."

He hurried on to the men's room. He had an hour until his flight, and he intended to sit down with a couple of nice long books after he answered the call of nature. Ten minutes later, he found one seat left, in the gate waiting area and sat down with his messenger bag and a book. Five minutes later, he gave up on reading because it was too noisy for even his famous concentration. He glanced up toward the large windows that looked out on the tarmac and saw the same woman he'd nearly mowed down standing at the window.

Her back was to him, but he surprised himself by getting to his feet and tapping her on the shoulder. She jumped, turned and blushed. "Oh, hi," she said self-consciously.

"You can have my seat if you like."

"No, I can't – "

"You'd better take it before someone else," he advised.

She smiled at him, and it lit up her face. She pushed up her gold-framed glasses with one finger and took his seat. "Oh," she sighed. "I feel like I've been on my feet _all_ day."

"I thought so."

"Really," she said, and there was wariness in her eyes. "Have you been watching me?"

"Ah, no," he felt his face get hot. "I just mean that it's the day after Christmas and the airport's a mad house."

"Yes," she said. "Sorry, I guess flying alone has me a little jumpy. You'd think I'd be used to it – "

She trailed off and looked down at her bag. He decided to take her place looking at the planes taking off. Ten long minutes had passed before he turned to look at her because she intrigued him. She had a book, too and he smiled. It was a copy of the latest novel by Stephanie Meyers. She'd taken off her black coat, and he saw that she wore a red sweater with a white snowflake pattern, blue jeans and black boots of the kind he'd seen JJ wear in the winter time. Her blond hair fell over her shoulder, and it looked like spun gold.

 _Spun gold! Seriously, Spencer. You don't even know her name. Stop staring at her!_

He decided to take his advice and went back to watching another 757 take off in the direction of California or Hawaii, or somewhere to the West of Nevada. He thought about his mother and his last conversation with her.

 _He'd entered her room at around 5 pm on Christmas Day after spending a few hours with his dad that included a gift exchange and a small dinner for two. The three of them had spent most of Christmas Eve together. He could see that his mother's worsening condition hurt his father and strangely knowing that made him want to comfort his dad in some way. William had never stopped loving Dianna, and that knowledge was like a knife to Spencer. It wasn't fair to any of them, and yet there was nothing he could do to change it._

 _That afternoon when he'd gone to see her, she was stuck in the past as a professor in her classroom. It didn't bother him as it had in past years. It was better that she thought him a student rather than not recognizing him at all because of her Alzheimer's. They'd spent about thirty minutes discussing Chaucer, her favorite, and then he'd said goodbye. At least they'd had a good day on Christmas Eve. He'd think about that and keep it safe in his memories for when times got bad._

His phone rang, and he smiled at the caller ID. "Hey, Garcia."

"Hey, sweet thing. How are you?"

"I'm at McCarran waiting for my flight. How are you?"

"I'm _excellent_. I just came from dinner with Sam's family. They're awesome."

He chuckled. "What's this, you had a good time. I thought you were freaking out at the thought of meeting his family."

"Don't throw my insecurities back in my face, gorgeous gray matter, or I won't give you a present when you get back."

"You don't need to do that Garcia."

"Yes, I do. You managed to slip away before the holidays, and avoid me – "

"I wasn't avoiding you," he squeaked.

"I have to give it to you when you return," she went on as if she didn't hear him.

"Garcia! I don't need Christmas gifts."

"Spreading Sunshine makes me happy," she argued.

He sighed. "Yes. I know it does, Penelope. I _don't_ like a fuss."

"Hm, you just called me Penelope. What's going on besides your disdain for Christmas? Is everything okay with your mom? Oh, god that was such a dumb question, baby cakes. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said, but tears collected in his eyes. "I went to see her yesterday, and she thought I was a student."

"Oh, no."

"It's okay! She had that delusion before her most recent diagnosis, so I'll deal with it."

"You _shouldn't_ have to," Garcia said and made him smile at her tone that clearly said she wished she could fix it for him.

"You can't fix it, but I appreciate the thought."

"I love you, Spencer, you know that."

"Yeah, love you too. Now, go spend more time with Sam or do something fun."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, my flight doesn't leave for another half an hour, and I have three books to read before we board."

She laughed joyfully, and it made him shake his head. He thanked whatever force in the universe made it possible for him to work at the BAU and call Penelope Garcia one of his best friends. He didn't know what he'd do without her.

"Alright, I'll leave you to your reading."

"See you later, Garcia."

"Yeah, see you soon, Sweet Cheeks."

He shoved his phone into his pocket. He was beginning to wonder if he might have time for a second cup of coffee.

"Um, hey."

He turned to see the woman he'd given his seat to trying to get his attention. She pointed to the seat next to her, which was now empty. "You can sit if you want."

He did sit and gave her a little wave and smile. She grinned back and resumed reading. Despite his assertions to Garcia that he wanted to read, he found he couldn't concentrate when he pulled his book from his bag. The woman next to him smelled pleasantly of vanilla and oranges. He liked her hands, too. Her fingers were long and thin, like his own, but they reminded him of birds in flight. She didn't wear a ring.

 _Are you thinking about hitting on her? Good idea in the middle of a crowded airport._

Instead, a voice from the desk to his right spoke over the loudspeaker and informed them that Flight 127 was delayed for an hour due to guidance system trouble. The voice apologized and asked for their patience.

"You've got to be kidding," said the woman. "It's the day after Christmas for God's sake." She looked at him and blushed. "Sorry. I'm exhausted and not in the mood to wait."

"Me, too," he agreed inanely. Then, he said, for some unknown reason. "There's a coffee shop down the hall. Would you like to get some coffee or something to eat?"

To his great surprise, she said, "Yes. I'd love it."

"My name is Dr. Spencer Reid."

Her eyebrows went up. "My name is Chriscelia Moore."

"Shall we go?"

She walked with him in the same direction as several of the other passengers from their flight, but he didn't notice them. Her hazel eyes were more alluring than the people milling around them. He didn't hear their complaints about the delayed flight, or notice when a man leading a small child bumped into him.

They managed to find a booth toward the back of the coffee shop and order coffee. He decided to add a pastry with his coffee. Chriscelia ordered herbal tea and a slice of apple pie. "I shouldn't be eating the pie; it's bad for my diet."

He wanted to say something clever, but couldn't think of anything. He gave her a small smile, and they lapsed into an uncomfortable silence as he tried to think of something to say to this stranger across the way.

"Thanks for inviting me here," she commented after the server brought their orders.

"I – ah, I thought you'd like to pass the time away from those excruciatingly uncomfortable chairs."

She laughed. "Yes, you're right about that. I was surprised we're on the same flight."

He stared at her. "Why?"

"Oh," she said, and her face went a little pink. "Did I say that aloud? I have a bad habit of that."

"Me too."

"Oh really."

"Yes. Just ask my team. They'd be happy to tell you all about my ramblings."

"Your team?"

He sipped his coffee. "Right, I forgot I hadn't told you. I'm an FBI agent."

"I thought you're a doctor."

He almost smiled at the confusion so evident in her lovely eyes. "I have three Ph.D.'s."

"Three?"

"Yes, I'm a genius."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

He watched her carefully for any signs that she might laugh, or worse get up and leave him there. She didn't laugh or leave. She shrugged and took a bite of her pie. She chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. She took a drink of her tea and said. " _So,_ you're a genius. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. It's just that most people think I'm weird or a freak, or over-educated."

"I don't think so. I think you're a nice man that gave up his seat for me."

"You're welcome."

"Tell me something about you," Reid asked.

"I'm a writer."

"Have you published anything?" Reid asked excitedly. "I love to read."

"In fact, I have been published. Do you know "Chains of Destiny or The Redemption of Jared Riley?"

"No, but I've heard JJ and Emily talking about both novels. _You're_ Christina Harris."

"Harris was my mother's maiden name and my father wanted me to name me Christina when I was born. My mother wanted to name me after her mother, Celia. That's how I got my given name. I took Christina as a pen name."

"I guess I should read them," Reid said.

"You don't have to read them just because we know each other."

"I _want_ to; I just haven't gotten around to it yet."

She grinned at him. "It's no big deal as I said. Why don't we talk about something else?"

"If you wish, but I'm making a trip to the library as soon as I get back to DC."

"If you don't mind, may I ask why you came to Las Vegas?"

"I came to visit my mother and father for Christmas."

Something flickered in her eyes. "That's great," she said a bit absently.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No, it's just that my mother passed away three years ago, last month, and my father died a week ago," she said flatly

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry."

"Thank you. My best friend told me something her father once said. He said he never felt truly alone until both his parents died."

Reid nodded his head. "My mom and dad are alive, but I can see what she meant."

"Now I _know_ what she meant. I know that none of us get out of here alive, but now the thought of that doesn't scare me like it used to."

He ate the last mouthful of his pastry instead of commenting about his thoughts on death and the loss of everyone he cared for in the last ten years.

"Now it's my turn to ask if I said something wrong," Chriscelia wondered over her last sip of cooling tea.

"Of course, not. I was merely thinking about how much I hate to fly commercial."

"Me too. Especially this time of year."

"I'm a profiler for the FBI, and we have a jet."

"Nice."

He suddenly realized he sounded like a braggart. "I'm sorry, that was kind of arrogant to say."

She went scarlet. "I'm in first class, so…"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I suppose."

"You are a famous writer."

She snorted and shook her head. "I'm number nine on the New York Times bestseller list. That's hardly famous."

"It's not number ten," he pointed out, and she laughed.

"You're right."

"It's all about perspective."

She giggled, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He liked making her laugh, he discovered, and suddenly it scared him to death, and he wondered how he'd wound up sitting here with her, just talking with no expectations. For the first time since he'd lost Maeve, he felt – he didn't know what he felt, but he liked it.

Then, Chriscelia looked at her watch. "Wow, it's been nearly an hour. We should get back to the gate."

He nearly sighed in frustration. How could an hour pass without him noticing the passage of time? Again, he felt something that sent chills over his back, the same chills he'd felt every time he talked to Maeve.

"Yes," he heard himself say. "I guess we should get back. Time to go home."


	2. Chapter 2

**_Disclaimer: see my profile_**

 ** _A/n Here's the next chapter. I'd like to say thank you to all who've supported this story and commented. I appreciate all my faithful readers. You guys rock._**

Spencer's flight home seemed interminable. He had the aisle seat and sat next to a beefy, red-faced man with dark hair, and monstrous halitosis. At the moment, the man, "Just call me Rick," was sleeping and snoring heroically to the consternation of Reid and all the passengers in the surrounding rows of seats.

Reid tried to ignore the snoring and sleep, but it was no use. It was the middle of the day after all, and if he were honest, he couldn't stop glancing up at the divider between First Class and Coach. He tried not to think about Chriscelia and his current inappropriate fantasy that she'd appear at the divider. Reid tried to tell himself that he wasn't in the middle of a Hollywood romantic comedy. Chriscelia wouldn't leave her seat, take the intercom mic from an accommodating flight attendant and profess her love for him to all and sundry, who'd then cheer for them as they kissed in dramatic fashion. He inwardly winced because it was insane, it was ridiculous, and it was so far out of the realm of possibility as to be laughable. He felt his face get hot enough to singe cotton, so he reached for his messenger bag and yanked out a book.

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Chriscelia put away her novel and sighed. She couldn't concentrate on the printed word because she fought the urge to look behind her at the dividing curtain that closed off First Class from the rest of the cabin.

 _He's not going to appear and take you into his arms for a public and rom-com style kiss._

She attempted to sleep, but her eyes refused to stay closed. She shifted in her seat and looked out the window to her left. She'd think about her dad, instead and all the things she'd wanted to say, but couldn't even at his deathbed.

Chriscelia's relationship with her dad had never gone smoothly in her twenty-six years of life. She never felt good enough or had the ability to please him. She couldn't do anything right in his eyes, even after publishing her books. By the time her first book had been accepted for publishing, her dad had already succumbed to Parkinson's disease and Dementia. He never realized her success, and that knowledge cut like a knife. Tears welled up in her throat, but she fought to keep them back. Now was not the time to give into her regrets. She'd have to wait until she was alone in her DC apartment.

The thought of going home to no one pushed her thoughts back in the direction of Spencer Reid. She never would've guessed him to be an FBI agent. At first meeting, she thought he might be a college professor. She didn't want to admit it but meeting an FBI agent that way was incredibly exciting. It was like a plot for one of her books.

A young woman traveling alone runs into a mysterious, handsome man who turns out to be a super smart federal agent. He's tall, dark, and handsome with eyes like warm, melted chocolate. There's something in his eyes that draws in the woman. He tells her he's in danger and needs her help. She agrees against her better judgment, and they go on a dangerous adventure with twists and turns everywhere. Of course, by the end of the book, they've fallen in love and walk off into the sunset together.

Chriscelia is snapped out of her imaginings by a flight attendant asking her if she would like a drink. She turned down alcohol for soda. The last thing she wanted to do was get a little sloshed with Spencer on the plane.

 _What does it matter? You were too shy to ask for his number. When you get home, he'll get off the plane, and you'll never see him again. You hardly know him. What if he's a deranged serial killer?_

Yes, the soda was better than the shot of tequila she'd prefer. At least she'd stopped fantasizing about her next book. Okay, maybe her next book. The thought occurred to her that if she wrote such a book, she'd have someone to help her with the research, and it would give her an excuse to contact him again.

Chriscelia felt her face grow extremely warm. Her writer's imagination was getting the better of her. Spencer Reid was an FBI agent. It was most probably the case that he was trying to be nice to a stranger and nothing more.

Still, she could swear she could feel his eyes on the back of her neck even though she knew he couldn't see her. _He's back in coach, reading and not thinking about you. Grow up and stop obsessing about him._

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When the plane finally began its descent into DC, Spencer almost cheered aloud. He hadn't napped or been able to read his books or watch the in-flight movie. He felt like someone had blown sand in his eyes. He desperately wanted to go home to his bed and sleep.

 _You want to dream about her!_

He closed his eyes and tried to think about the article he needed to write for American Psychology Magazine, but denial didn't work. His inner voice had a point. There was something about Chriscelia that he wanted to discover. He barely heard the announcement that they'd landed. He felt the jolt of landing gear touching down. He heard the scream of engines reversing and saw the airport out the window as they taxied to the gate, but all of it was second to seeing Chriscelia in his mind's eye and hearing her in his head.

 _Stop obsessing!_

Reid waited until nearly everyone had exited the plane. He didn't want to leave the cabin and face the fact that Chriscelia was gone for good. He wanted to stay in denial, but eventually, he had to leave. He trudged up the walkway to the gate entrance on feet that felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each. He should have asked for her phone number!

 _Garcia can get it for you!_

His eyes passed over the crowd in the waiting area, and there she was. Chriscelia stood to one side of the stream of people leaving the gate. She smiled shyly at him and waved. His heart took off beating like a frightened hummingbird.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," he responded as he drew up to her. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

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The cafe was an all-night establishment he knew well from arriving home in the middle of the night from cases. He liked going there for their burgers and breakfast food. It looked like an old-fashioned dive with black and white tile floor, red upholstered booths, a bar in the middle of the room and servers that wore black and white uniforms.

"I'm glad you waited for me," Reid blurted out as soon as they sat.

She went rosy in the cheeks which made him tingle all over. "I decided I couldn't let you walk back out of my life. Is that okay?"

"Yes," he breathed. "I was sitting on the plane and kicking myself for not asking you for your phone number."

"I'd think that an FBI agent could find it," she teased.

"One of my best friends is Penelope Garcia. She's our technical analyst and one of the most dangerous hackers in the world. Getting your number would be child's play for her, but I decided not to ask her to dig it out."

" _Oh_ ," Chriscelia said, and she looked at her menu instead of into his beautiful eyes.

"Hey," he reached out and pushed down her menu. "I didn't mean I didn't want your number; I just want to keep my life to myself, if that makes sense."

She looked up at him, and her hazel eyes glistened. "I'm _so_ glad you said that."

"It's true. Why do you think asked you to dinner?"

She blew out a breath. "I'm sorry. I've never really had many boyfriends, oh god, not that I think that you're my boyfriend, I mean I hardly know you and – well, I have no idea why I'm babbling. You must think I'm nuts."

Reid grinned at her and felt the unreasonable happiness that he wasn't the only one with relationship issues. "I don't think you're nuts. I _do_ understand what you mean. Why don't we start with friendship?"

"I'd like that," she said honestly.

Their server approached and took their orders. Chriscelia ordered a burger on Spencer's recommendation. Reid decided to order breakfast, which was offered all day and night.

"I like breakfast," he said. "It's my favorite cuisine."

Chriscelia giggled. "I didn't know that breakfast is a cuisine."

Reid tried to look offended but failed miserably. " _Yes_ , it is," he defended.

Chriscelia shrugged. "If you say so. I say you just made that up."

"Did you know that some fitness experts now say that breakfast _isn't_ the most important meal of the day?"

"I think the experts," she made quotation mark with her fingers, "Don't know what they're talking about. They say on the one hand it's better to exercise in the morning because it raises your metabolism for the rest of the day and that exercising at night keeps you from sleeping. Then they say it's better to exercise at night because you sleep better. Who do you believe? That's just one example."

Reid chuckled. "You're right. There seems to be conflicting health information every day."

They were silent for a long time, but this time it wasn't awkward. Their server brought their food, and they began to eat as if they were both starving, which made Chriscelia laugh again.

"What?" Reid looked up at her with those eyes and she shivered.

"I was just thinking were both digging in like it's our last meal."

He laughed and then choked.

"You okay?" She asked as a man with his family at the next table stared at them.

"Yes," he drank from his water glass.

"You were right about the burgers; this is exceptional."

"I'm glad you like it."

After another minute of silence and after the family next to them left, Reid asked. "What made you decide to become a writer?"

"I've always loved books. When I was a kid, I wrote stories for my little brother. I never considered any other career. I studied creative writing at college, and my first book was published when I was twenty-two. I love telling stories."

"I love reading, too."

"My brother rolls his eyes when I come for visits because I always have at least three books in my luggage."

"I get the same reaction from my team. I read a lot of government reports and technical manuals."

"Why?"

"Um, I have an eidetic memory and read twenty thousand words a minute, so I'm always looking for new material."

"Really? I wish _I_ had an eidetic memory."

He frowned. "It's not as great as you might think. I can't forget anything I see or read. When you look at crime scenes for a living, you sometimes wish your memory was like anyone else's."

"Oh, I didn't think of that. I can understand how you feel."

"Luckily, I have other memories to counterbalance the terrible things, like all the people we've helped."

"Is that why you decided to become a profiler."

"Yes, but there is more to it."

She took another sip of her water. "You don't have to tell me."

He took a bite of his huge ham and cheese omelet. He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed as she waited for him to respond. "It's okay. It's just a bit of a long story and – "

At that moment, his cell phone rang insistently. He looked at the screen and frowned. Chriscelia watched him talk and heard him say the name Garcia. He put his phone away, and shadows had collected in his kind eyes. "I'm truly sorry, Chriscelia. I have to go."

"Your work."

"Yes, I'm supposed to be off until Wednesday, but it's an emergency."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. I'm sorry I have to leave, I _wanted_ to spend time with you."

"Here," she reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. She fished out a business card and handed it to him. "Even writers have business cards." He smiled and took it. "Please call me when you have time," she asked.

"I promise."

Reid left enough cash to cover the bill and tip despite her objections. She suddenly stood as he was grabbing his messenger bag. "Be careful," she kissed his cheek, and he went pink. "I _want_ to see you again."

"Me too, and I will."

She watched him walk away, then finished her burger. A burst of sudden energy had her thinking of going home and outlining a new book instead of sleeping.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Disclaimer: see my profile._**

 ** _A/n thank you all again for your kind reviews and support. Please enjoy the next chapter._ **

Reid carefully blew on his most recent refill of coffee. Usually, the smell of his favorite beverage was enough to lift his spirits. Tonight, however, he felt as though the world slid further into chaos. He sighed, sat and reached for his messenger bag. Perhaps a little reading might take his mind off their case. He pulled out a thick, hard-bound book, and something small and white fluttered to the floor of the jet.

"You dropped this," JJ said as she took a seat next to Tara, who sat opposite his chair. She picked it off the floor before he could react. Her eyes widened and her brows lifted into her bangs. She grinned at him like a school girl with a new secret. "Why do you have a business card with the name Chriscelia Moore on it?"

He reached over the table between them and snatched the card from her fingers. " _Do_ you mind?"

"Sorry, Spence."

Tara simply observed them with a smirk. Reid ignored them as he carefully slid the card into an inner pocket of his bag. He opened his book and began to read. After about a minute and a half, he said, without looking up, "I can feel you staring at me."

JJ didn't reply. He refused to respond to her silence. He forced his attention on the book. Finally, she said," I can tell you're not reading."

"It's difficult to read when you _insist_ on talking to me."

"Why are you trying to distract me?"

"What's going on?" Emily sat next to Reid and effectively boxed in him with all three ladies.

" _Nothing_ is going on," He said with a small edge to his tone.

"Spence has a business card for someone named Chriscelia Moore."

" _Hm_ … Interesting name."

Reid kept his eyes on his book. "It's nothing you need to worry about." He said, a bit testily.

"JJ," Emily said conversationally "I believe Dr. Reid has something to hide."

"I'd say you're correct, Emily. He's refusing eye contact, and his body's angled away from us. He's crossed his legs and arms. Clearly, he has something to hide." Tara put in.

Reid let his eyes drift up to Tara. He deliberately uncrossed and arms and legs, and turned to face them. "It's just a business card, ladies," he said with exaggerated patience. "I receive _dozens_ of business cards a year. It's nothing."

"Do you believe it's nothing?" Emily directed to JJ.

"Nope!"

"That's your prerogative," Reid stated, "I can't stop you."

"I think," Emily continued. "Thou doth _protest_ too much."

Reid smiled, then chuckled and shook his head. "The _correct_ quotation is, "The Lady doth protest too much, methinks."

Emily and JJ looked at each other. "I keep forgetting he's a magician from Vegas."

JJ's lips twitched. "You're right. It's obvious misdirection."

Reid rolled his eyes. "Guys…"

It was their turn to ignore him. "I think it's Freudian," Tara suggested seriously.

"It's _not_ Freudian," Reid protested loudly. "His theories were discredited years ago."

"I think you're on to something, Tara, " JJ speculated as though he wasn't there. "If he didn't want us to see the card, he would've placed it in a secure location rather than using it as a bookmark."

"Therefore his subconscious mind wants us to know about this woman and – "

"Enough," Reid interrupted Tara.

"Enough of what?" Luke said as he passed by them.

"Nothing," Reid said hurriedly.

"Spence has a business card with a mysterious woman's name. He won't talk about it."

"Could just be a head hunter," Alvez countered. "I'm sure you get offers," he directed to Reid.

Something unspoken passed between them, and Reid seemed to relax. "Yes, I do."

" _Uh no_ , I saw that," Emily said, her finger moving back and forth between the two men. "What do you know?" She demanded of Alvez.

"With all due respect to our new Unit Chief, I plead the fifth."

He moved on in the direction of the coffee pot. He passed Rossi headed in the opposite direction.

"Rossi, "JJ began.

"He doesn't know _anything._ Leave him alone."

"What don't I know?"

"So, there is something to know," Emily said at the same time.

"Emily, please…" Reid pleaded.

"Reid's got a secret." Tara indicated.

"About a woman," JJ added.

Rossi pinned Reid with a searching stare, then shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sure he has a good reason to play it close to the vest."

"Thanks, Dave."

Rossi nodded, smiled at the ladies, and went back to his seat.

"You men all stick together," Emily complained.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Reid said happily.

"We'll talk to Garcia," JJ planned. "She'll know something."

"Do what you have to do," Reid said serenely and went back to his book.

As always, Garcia waited for them at the elevator. She greeted them with her usual enthusiasm, hugging them each in turn, accept for Alvez. She simply nodded to him and said. "Newbie." He shook his head and grinned in Rossi's direction. In Reid's opinion, her color, her optimism, reminded all of them why they risked their sanity and sometimes their lives to make the world a better place. At least that's what he thought until the ladies surrounded her and suggested drinks at their favorite watering hole.

"What about the guys?" Garcia looked back at the men.

"Nope, it's just the ladies, we have news."

"Oh, about who?"

Reid shook his head as they walked away. He'd try not to think about that conversation.

Luke Alvez followed Reid to the bullpen. "Thanks," Reid said.

"For what?"

"On the plane."

"Oh, right. No problem. We all have our secrets. It's up to you when or if you want to share them."

"Still, I appreciate it."

"You're welcome."

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He knew about _secrets._ He lived for the secrets he kept hidden from everyone but _her_. He told her everything. She knew all his darkest secrets, desires, and soon she'd understand that she was his _alone._ They'd be happy, and she'd thank him for saving her from all the people that only wanted her for her fame. He loved her more than all the stupid sycophants around her. He'd show her that she didn't need them.

He taped up another picture he'd taken of her when she'd left the airport that day. He'd crossed out the face of the man at her side, with a heavy black marker. He didn't know who the man was and it didn't matter. If he got in the way, he'd pay with his life.

He sat and began to compose another letter to her as Johnny Mathis sang "Chances Are," in the background.

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Chriscelia loved inventing secrets for her characters to keep. Inevitably their secrets came to light, and she reveled in the thrill of discovery. Sometimes, she wept along with the deceived in her tales, and then laughed at her emotional reaction. Her writing was an emotional rollercoaster, but one she couldn't leave behind. If only she could think of some deep, dark, disturbing secret buried in the life of her newest hero, FBI Agent, Stephen Randall.

Spencer! She stopped typing and shook her head. She couldn't just base a character on him without talking to him. He'd hate her and think she was using him for her books. No, that wasn't true. She liked him very much and wanted to get to know him. She didn't want to use him. She saved her document and shut off her computer. She'd wait. She had another project she owed her publisher to finish. She'd work on that first, and when the time was right, she'd ask Spencer if he'd help her with research and if he'd be okay with her basing a character on him.

She couldn't stop thinking about Spencer Reid and her impulsive kiss when he left the café two nights ago. He had yet to call her, and she tried not to take it as a bad sign. He probably had too much to do with work to have time for a social call.

 _He was just nice at the airport and the café. He probably has women falling all over him._

Chriscelia tried to ignore her internal voice, by switching on Netflix and looking for a movie to watch. She searched her recommendations and came across, purely by chance, her father's favorite movie, "Paint Your Wagon." Out of nowhere, sadness so profound struck her like a closed fist. She burst into ragged tears that shook her entire body.

An hour later, she lay on her leather sofa wrapped in her mother's favorite blanket, with a bowl of chocolate-peanut butter ice cream and a glass of vanilla eggnog on the coffee table. She'd always turned to food for comfort, even though she knew it was a fleeting comfort. She spooned up another bite of ice cream just as her phone buzzed. She thought about ignoring it because the screen said, unknown caller.

 _It might be him._

She touched the accept button and said, "Hello?"

"Hi," said a familiar voice.

"Hi, Spencer. You must be a mind reading because I've been hoping you'd call."

"What's wrong?"

She felt hot tears collect in her throat once again. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "You didn't call to listen to me blubber like a baby."

"Chriscelia, you just lost your father. I'd be extremely concerned if you weren't upset."

"It's stupid," she raged, suddenly angry. "We didn't get along at all. My little brother was his favorite. Mark could do no wrong in dad's eyes."

"Still, he was your father, and he's dead," Spencer said bluntly.

"I loved him, but I didn't like him at all. Isn't that horrible?"

"I know what you mean."

"How could you know what I mean?" She nearly shouted. "Your parents are alive."

He was quiet for so long; she thought he'd disconnected. Her heart sank into her toes and tears slid down her cheeks.

"Spencer, are you there? I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"You don't know anything about me," he said quietly.

She bit her lip. "You're right. I don't know anything about you. I am truly sorry. Please forgive me."

She heard him sigh, long and loud. "There's nothing to forgive but there are things you should know about me."

"You're scaring me a little."

"I'm sorry for that. I don't mean to. Will you listen to my story and not judge?"

"Yes." She assured him because, despite his tone of utter seriousness mixed with resignation and despair, she wanted to know all of him, to embrace everything that made him unique.

"I don't want to do this on the phone. Can we meet somewhere?"

"You can come here."

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said flatly. "You hardly know me. I shouldn't have free access to your home."

"I don't care. I trust you, Spencer. You're an FBI agent, for God's sake."

"I just don't think I should come into your apartment, alone."

"You want to go to a public place for a private conversation?"

"No," he admitted reluctantly.

"Why don't I come to your apartment."

"I don't think that's a good idea, either."

"If you're worried about my safety, which I'm not, better we meet there. Then I know where you are, but you don't know where I live, for now."

He was quiet for several seconds. "You may feel different when you hear my story."

"I doubt there is anything you can tell me that will turn me off – um, sorry, that didn't come out right."

Her face began to burn as he chuckled a little. "I _know_ what you mean."

"Will you tell me your address?"

"Yes." He gave her the address, and she promised to meet him in two hours.

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He followed her as she drove her red Lexus toward McLean. Anger seethed in his gut. She wasn't supposed to leave her apartment at this time on a weeknight. She was supposed to stay home. His hands clenched the steering wheel of his ancient Ford, and his breath heaved in and out of his chest with explosive force. Soon, he would reveal himself to her. She'd learn his rules and obey only him. He'd teach her, her proper place.

His teeth ground and his hands gripped the wheel so tight they spasmed with pain when he saw her turn into the parking lot of an unfamiliar apartment complex. Damn her! He droved around the block and parked in a position where he could see her car in the lot. Who was she visiting? Was it the man from the airport? A red haze, as scarlet as fresh blood blinded him. The filthy little _bitch_. When he'd finished with her, she'd beg him for death!


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: see my profile**_

 _ **A/n thanks again to all my faithful readers. Please enjoy the next chapter.**_

Reid set aside a new cup of coffee and a novel when a knock sounded on his front door. Chriscelia wore her wavy blond hair down around her shoulders. Her hazel eyes were bloodshot and puffy behind her glasses. He liked the long sleeve purple and white checked shirt she wore with faded jeans and black running shoes. He didn't like the sadness and exhaustion in her eyes.

"Hey," she greeted, and exhaustion colored her voice.

"Hi."

"May I come in?"

He realized he was staring at her. "I'm sorry. Come in, please."

He swung the door wide to admit her and hoped that she hadn't noticed his staring eyes and trembling hands.

"Wow," she exclaimed, as she went to one of his huge bookcases. "Your collection is huge."

Spencer smiled, and his hands stopped shaking. "Most of the contents are up here," he tapped his temple. "I don't need them, but – "

"They're old friends," Chriscelia said knowingly.

"Exactly!"

They stood staring at the bookcase for a minute, then Chriscelia said. "I love the colors and that your living area reminds me of a Sherlock Holmes novel."

"Thanks."

" _Oh_ , you have a beautiful chessboard." She fingered the white king.

"Do you play?"

"No, I tried to learn once, but I'm hopeless at thinking ahead."

"Perhaps you didn't have the right teacher."

"Perhaps."

They were silent again, but this time it wasn't a nervous silence, at least, not for Reid. "Would you like to sit?" He invited.

"Yes, thank you."

She sat. He gestured to the little kitchen area. "Would you like coffee?"

"No, thank you. If I have caffeine this late, I won't be able to sleep."

"I think I'm immune to the caffeine at this point," he joked. "Emily says I have coffee for blood."

"Who's Emily?"

"She's my boss and a friend."

He joined her on the sofa. She turned and put her back to one of the arms of the couch.

"I supposed I should stop stalling and tell you what you came here to hear."

She reached out a hand as if to touch him, then let it fall back. "You don't have to do this, Spencer."

"After we talked, I thought about calling you to back out."

"Spencer," she began calmly. "I don't know what's in your past and that's all right. We all have our secrets."

"Secrets can tear you apart. I know that better than anyone."

"I think – "

He held up a hand to stop her words. "Chriscelia, I never expected to meet someone in the airport, much less someone I like immensely. That being said I can't take a chance getting to know you without telling you about my parents and how I grew up."

"You're scaring me a little."

"I didn't intend to when we agreed to meet."

She slid forward and reached out for his hand. " _Tell_ me," she insisted.

He wanted to look away from her hazel eyes, but they held him even more effectively than her hands.

"My mother was diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia before I was born." He said quickly, his words falling over each like water over rocks in a stream bed.

Her hand tightened on him. "You can't scare me away with such a revelation."

He swallowed hard. "I have a ten percent chance of inheriting her condition."

"You have a _ninety_ percent chance of living out your life perfectly healthy."

"She was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's disease, about eight months ago."

"Spencer."

"I'm not telling you this for sympathy. I want you to understand."

"I do understand. I know it's not the same thing, but I know what it's like to watch your parent succumb to dementia. It rips you up inside. I can't imagine what it must be like for your mom, to have Alzheimer's on top of Schizophrenia."

He wanted desperately to embrace her, to allow human contact to comfort him for once. Instead, he held fast to her hand and resisted the urge to hold her.

Tears spilled from her eyes and guilt smote him. "I'm sorry! I didn't think of your father."

"I'm all right, just sad for you."

"It wasn't all bad, growing up. My mom was – _is_ amazing."

"Tell me about her. I want to know everything."

His heart leaped in his chest, and thumped so hard; he became a little dizzy. "Most people don't ask about her as a person. They discover she's mentally ill, and that's all that defines her in their eyes."

"I'm not most people."

A single tear escaped his eyes, but he laughed despite it. "No, you're not like most people. I'm profoundly grateful."

Chriscelia listened as Spencer told her about his mom. Love and admiration tinged with sorrow colored every word, but he seemed to come alive as though a great weight had lifted with the act of telling.

"She sounds like a remarkable woman."

"She is. She went completely off her meds to carry me. She said spent every day in terror, but she got through it and had me."

"I'm glad she was strong enough to survive it because you're here."

She almost grinned at his blush. He obviously didn't know his enormous appeal, that wasn't only in his looks, but also in his soul.

"I wish for a miracle cure every day."

"I don't understand why some people have to suffer through life."

"I decided to study philosophy because people talk about Fate and Destiny all the time. I don't believe in either, because why should someone be fated to be mentally ill? It doesn't make sense."

"Did it help to study Philosophy?"

He shrugged. "I'm still thinking about it."

She chuckled a little. "I guess that's a valid answer."

He smiled and gently pulled his hands from her grip. "I find the more I live and the more I see the evil men choose to do, the less I believe anyone is destined for a certain fate."

"Is that why you decided to join the FBI?"

He sighed heavily and gestured to his chessboard. "I learned to play chess when I was three. My dad taught me. When my mother had a good day, she'd often take me to the park. I'd play with anyone I could find, including adults. Once, I played with a stranger, a man I've never seen before, but he'd seen me. I was four and didn't think anything of him asking me to play, but my mother sensed something about him that frightened her."

"He was a pedophile," Chriscelia interpreted.

"My mother said she could tell by the way he looked at me."

"He didn't – "

"No, but mom freaked out and began to beg my father to move. He thought, at first, that it was her condition, but it was easier for him to give into what she wanted."

"What happened?" Chriscelia watched him intently with wide eyes.

"A little boy named Riley Jenkins was killed. He was raped and stabbed to death. They found him stuffed behind the washing machine in his family's basement."

"Oh, Spencer!"

"His father blamed the man in the park, Gary Michaels. He went after him one night. My mother was with him and tried to talk him out of it, but he beat Michaels to death. When my dad saw the blood on her clothes, he knew he couldn't let her get caught up in a murder investigation, so he helped Mr. Jenkins cover it."

"How did your parents know him?"

"Right, I forgot to explain. Riley was on my little league team, so they were friends."

"My God."

"I witnessed my dad burning my mother's blood-soaked clothes. Memory is a funny thing. When I became an adult, I began to dream about Riley. My dad appeared in the dream, and I thought he was the killer. I went under hypnosis and remembered seeing dad burn the clothes, and I thought they were his clothes. I assumed he was responsible for Riley.

When I found out the truth eight years ago, I understood why my dad left us when I was ten. The weight of his secret was _too_ great, and it tore us apart. He left us alone, and I had to take care of my mom, the house, plus attend school and pretend nothing was wrong with my life."

"I'm _so_ sorry, Spencer."

"I won't lie and say I'm over it all, but my dad and I are making progress in our relationship. The crazy thing is that he never took off his wedding ring and he never divorced my mom. I know he still loves her."

"I'm glad for you," Chriscelia said. "So, I infer you joined the BAU to help victims like Riley."

"Yes. I can't say I love my job. There are too much pain and destruction, but at least I can make some small difference."

"I'll bet you do more than make a small difference."

"I hope so!"

"I know you do."

"How can you say that when you hardly know me."

"It's something in your eyes."

He suddenly found that he couldn't look away from her. She said she saw something in his eyes, but she didn't know that her eyes held mysteries for him that he didn't understand, but wanted to explore. He didn't realize he licked his lips because she leaned closer and the scent of vanilla around her hair overwhelmed him. She laid a gentle hand on his face and kissed him. Something electric passed between them, and he shuddered. His hands began to tremble, but this time not in fear. He slipped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. The kiss deepened and his tongue sought her mouth. She made a tiny sound like a mewling kitten. They swayed back and forth on the couch as the kiss waxed and waned like the tide on the ocean.

"Wow," Chriscelia breathed. "You know how to kiss, Dr. Reid."

He shoved away from her. "I didn't mean to do that. We hardly know each other."

"So, you keep reminding me."

"I think we need to slow down."

"Is that what you _truly_ want?"

"No, I'm a guy after all."

"Oh, very funny."

"I'm serious," he said, but his mouth trembled into a smile.

"I suppose you're right. How do you want to proceed?"

"I think we should go out on an actual date."

She lifted her eyebrows. "I thought you'd never ask."

She initiated the second kiss. It lasted until he couldn't breathe. He pushed her away, reluctantly. "I told you, that you'd be in danger if you came here alone," he breathed.

She grinned at him. "You're the one that said we should slow down. Are you having second thoughts."

"Third ones," he said and sighed dramatically.

"You're wonderful for my ego. I didn't know I'm _so_ irresistible."

He rolled his eyes. "Like I said. I'm a guy. I have a beautiful woman alone in my apartment. What should I do?"

"I'm not beautiful," she argued.

"You are," he countered. "On the inside and the outside."

"No one's ever called my beautiful."

"Then they're fools."

She hugged him, and this time it was for comfort. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I suppose I better leave before I lose control of myself," she teased.

"I thought that was my line."

"Why don't you call me in the morning. We'll think of something to do… unless you have to work."

"Actually," He said as they rose to their feet. "I'm free until Monday."

"Then, call me early."

"I will."

She took his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "I can't wait to see you again."

His work cell phone buzzed, and he groaned. "You have to be kidding me," he said under his breath. "What is it, Garcia? I thought we're on stand down until after the New Year. Emily insisted."

"Spencer!"

"Sorry, but I'm – "

"Will you listen to me. We don't have a case, but I found something you need to know right now."

"What's wrong?"

"The girls told me about Chriscelia Moore and – "

"Garcia," relief splashed over him like cool water on a hot day, followed by annoyance. "I'm not in the _mood_ for gossip. I have – "

"It's not gossip," she overrode him irritably. "I was concerned after we went for drinks. I came home and started digging into her background."

"Garcia!"

"I'm sorry, sweet cheeks, but after everything you've been through with Maeve, I had to check."

He forced his hand to relax on the phone and let his breathing even out even if a touch of the old pain cut at his heart. "All right, I understand."

"Did you know Chriscelia is Christina Harris, the writer?"

"Yes."

"I found the usual fan websites and articles about book signings and new releases, but I also found some disturbing stuff as well."

He looked at Chriscelia who sat on the sofa and watched him with curiosity in her lovely eyes. He smiled at her even as his heart stuttered and his blood went ice in his veins.

"What did you find?"

"There's a sicko out there who calls himself CHFan90. His fan website is full of vileness. He claims that they're meant to be together and that one day he'll make it happen by any means necessary, and I mean _any_ means."

"Can you track him?"

"Already done. He's not the brightest when it comes to website protection, at least not when coming up against someone like me."

"As Morgan says, you're a goddess."

"You have her number; you should contact her right now."

"She's here with me."

"Way to go, baby boy."

He rolled his eyes and felt the urge to laugh despite the situation. "It's _not_ like that."

 _At least not yet!_

"Right, well keep a close eye on her. From everything I've learned about her, she's a special lady, not to mention one of my favorite authors."

"I'll be sure to pass it on."

"Do you think you could get her autograph?"

"Garcia!"

"Just asking… You don't have to get hissy. Seriously, what are you going to do?"

"There's not a lot we can do tonight. I'll contact Emily and bring her up to speed."

"Okay, let me know if you need help."

"Bye, Garcia."

He put his phone on the coffee table and turned to Chriscelia. "I need to ask you something, and I need you to be _completely_ honest with me."

"Sure."

"Is there anyone that's contacted you recently through mail or online that's scared you or threatened you?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

She flinched a little at his tone. "I said I was sure. What's the matter?" Anger sparked in her eyes. "Don't you believe me."

"I'm concerned."

"There was a fan that wrote some freaky letters, but my publisher has them. There haven't been any in the last six months. I thought he went away or got bored."

Reid pinched his nose and closed his eyes tight. "Unfortunately, stalkers rarely just go away."

Fear leaped into her eyes. "What are you trying to tell me?"

He sighed. "That was Garcia on the phone, our technical analyst. She's a bit overprotective of me. She found something you're not going to like."


	5. Chapter 5

**_Disclaimer: see my profile_**

"Tell me, Spencer. I can handle it."

He leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter instead of going to the sofa. "Garcia did a background check, and she found a rather obscene website dedicated to you."

"I don't understand. Why is your technical analyst doing a background check on me?"

"I'd think you'd be more concerned about the website."

Chriscelia lifted her eyebrows. "I'm a writer, Spencer. Some of my fans are a little obsessive. It's a hazard of the job. My agent warned me after my first book made the bestseller list, but said to ignore it because if you give credence to them, they're emboldened."

"That may be true about the more mentally stable, but the dangerous stalkers aren't stable. If you ignore them, they can become enraged."

"What do you suggest I do, _cower_ in fear?"

He saw the anger sparking in her eyes and his stomach churned. He felt his blood heat and memories of his inaction with Maeve made his hands shake.

"I think you _should t_ ake it seriously. We need to investigate – "

"No, Spencer. I won't let you and your team disrupt my life. "

He stared at her for a long time, then let his head drop. "I won't let it happen again."

"You won't let _what_ happen again?"

"I won't let a stalker take you away."

She stood and came toward him. "What are you talking about, Spencer?"

He backed away from her. "I can't talk about it."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't understand why you're so upset. It's just a website. Nothing's going to happen to me. My phone's unlisted and my home is in my name, not Christina Harris. There's no way – "

"Don't say there's no way he can get to you," Reid shouted, his face going red with anger. "I _know_ what stalkers can do. I've _seen_ it! "

"Spencer!"

"The fact that you're not taking this seriously makes me question…"

He suddenly broke off and closed his eyes. When he opened them, tears were running down Chriscelia's face. "I'm outta here."

"No! It's not safe."

"If you think I'm going to let you order me around just because you're "Mr. Big Shot FBI Profiler," you have another thought coming. I can take care of _myself_ , Agent Reid."

"Chriscelia! I'm sorry. I handled this badly. You don't know what's happened to me in the last four years."

"Then _tell_ me!"

He drew in and let out a shaky breath. "Four years ago, I wrote an article for the American Journal of Psychology. I received a compliment letter from a geneticist, Dr. Maeve Donovan. I wrote back to thank her. And, I wrote because she intrigued me and I wanted to know more about her. We started a correspondence that spanned letters and then phone calls. I was concerned because she wanted to use code names and only speak by different pay phones. I had a pager, I'd pick a pay phone, send her the number, and she'd call me back. We talked this way for six months."

"Why didn't – "Chriscelia began.

He shook his head. "I was afraid. I know now I was in denial. I did try to convince her to let me help her, but she refused. She didn't want anything to happen to me. Then, she told me she loved me and I went into a bit of an emotional tailspin for a while."

He went quiet for a moment, unable to make eye contact with Chriscelia. She didn't prompt him to go on, and the silence between them cut like a razor through flesh.

"What I didn't know at the time, was that the entire team had another stalker."

Chriscelia's eyes widened. "I don't _believe_ this."

He almost smiled. "Yes, well, I'll tell you the complete story on _tha_ t later. I went to a pay phone one Sunday morning and called Maeve. When the phone rang, it wasn't her voice, but an electronically altered voice that said "Zugzwang."

"What is Zugzwang?"

"It's a chess term. It means the point in the game when a player realizes there's no way to win. You have to decide if you want to play until the end or give up."

Chriscelia hugged herself tightly. "That must've freaked you out."

"I've never been more frightened in my life. I realized that I loved her too and now, because I hadn't gone against her wishes and involved the team, I might lose her, which is exactly what happened.

'You don't have to say anymore," Chriscelia said as fresh tears welled in her eyes.

"I need to say it because I can't let it happen again. I went to my boss, and he gathered the team. They agreed to help me. We discovered signs of a struggle in her apartment, and she was gone. By the time, we found out her stalker was a woman it was too late. I tried to trade myself for Maeve, but I couldn't talk Dianne down. She was suicidal. She shot herself and took Maeve down with the same bullet. It happened right in front of me. There was _nothing_ I could do."

Chriscelia jumped into his arms and held him tight. "I'm so sorry, Spencer. Please forgive me."

He pushed her back but kept his hands tight on her arms. "Forgive you for what?"

"For forcing you to relive your loss. I can hear in your voice how much you loved her."

She looked down at his couch instead of into his eyes. He lifted her chin with one hand. "I don't love her like that, not anymore. I'll always care fo her, but in the way, you do someone who's lost to you, someone who died too young, before she reached her full potential. The world will never know what Maeve Donovan could have done with her brilliant mind. Her stalker took that away from us, but all I can do is go on and give my all to helping people. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but you must miss her. She was so much like you, brilliant, brave, kind and probably beautiful."

"She was all of that, but just because she was similar to me doesn't mean she was the best for me. She was wonderful, and she was beautiful, but so are you, Chriscelia."

"I'm nothing special."

"That's not true. You're smart in your way; you're kind, strong willed, and creative. You can help me bring out my creative side. I love to draw."

"You do."

Her tone perked up, and he finally smiled. "Yes, I'm terrible at it, but it doesn't stop me." He gestured to the keyboard she hadn't noticed. It stood in one corner with a little stool behind it. "I rarely play my keyboard even though I enjoy it thoroughly. _Also_ , I knit."

His eyes challenged her to laugh at him . Instead she grinned. "I've always wanted to learn to knit. Perhaps you can teach me."

"After chess?"

She laughed and swiped at the last of her tears with a new tissue. " _Yes_ , after I learn chess."

He shifted and sat with one leg on the couch. She took his hand, and he let her hold it again. He liked the way her skin felt on his fingers. It felt like coming home.

"Now that I've thoroughly unnerved you, we should talk about what to do. This guy isn't going away."

"I agree, and I promise to comply with your suggestions because you are the expert, but I won't be treated like a damsel in distress."

He held up one hand because the other was occupied now. "I promise I'll try."

She sighed and shrugged. "Okay."

A furrow appeared on his brow. "The strange thing is that most celebrity stalkers aren't violent."

" _Ah_ , but, you must remember that I'm not a celebrity."

He rolled his eyes. "So you're not Angelina Jolie, but you are a well-known writer. All the ladies on my team are big fans."

"Seriously."

"Yes, in fact, Garcia wants me to get your autograph."

Chriscelia snorted out laughter. "I'll sign both books for her."

He sobered again. "Chriscelia, is there anyone you can think of that might be behind this website? His willingness to harm you could indicate that you know him. What about ex-boyfriends?"

She laughed, politely. "I dated a little in high school and college. I had one long-term relationship when I was a senior, but we ended things amicably. We didn't want the same things from life."

"Maybe it wasn't so amicable for him."

"What he wanted from life was a man, not me." She said and grinned at him.

"Oh."

"I probably should have sensed it when we never moved beyond the hand-holding stage. He apologized for using me, but he hadn't come out to his friends or his family, and he was afraid of what they'd think. After graduation, he got smashed one night and called his mother. The funny thing was no one cared."

Reid nodded. "Well, I hope he's happy."

"He is. We've stayed friends, and I'm good friends with his partner, who's a great guy."

"Good."

They were silent again. Reid thought hard about his next question and then decided just to ask. "Speaking of your friend and his orientation, did you ever experiment with…" He trailed off and went pink in the cheeks."

"No, I'm straight."

"Good, I mean I'd be fine if you had, it's just that – oh god, I'm sorry."

"You think my stalker might be a woman I may have rejected."

He nodded. "I don't think it's the case, but it could be. I had a case in LA with an actress whose female assistant stalked her. They had a weekend in college and her assistant took it to mean more that it did."

"No, I never thought about experimenting. I've always loved men."

Happy to be off the topic, he said, "I think we can rule out women unless more information points that way."

"Good to know. Now, can I _pleas_ e go home?"

"I don't want you to return to your apartment," he said abruptly and seriously.

"Spencer, he can't possibly know where I live."

"You can't know that."

She pulled her hand from his. "I will not be intimidated. You do what you have to do, but I'm going home."

"Please stay. I'd feel better if you stay here tonight until we have more information."

"Spencer…"

His eyes reminded her of a small puppy left behind in the rain. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to do more than hug him, but it was too soon.

"I'll give you one good reason why I can't stay here."

"Why?"

She almost laughed at the puzzled expression on his face. "Because I find you smoking hot, Spencer Reid. I'm not sure can control myself, if you know what I mean."

"Chriscelia."

"I know we just met, but you're damned attractive, and when you look at me like a lost puppy I want to jump you."

He shifted away from her and his back hit the arm of the couch. He couldn't deny that he wanted her desperately.

"I don't want to sleep with you just because there's this aura of danger in the air. I don't want to make a mistake. I want to get to know you and let things progress naturally to where we're meant to go."

He nodded because he understood. It's why he didn't want to be alone with her in the first place. The strength of his attraction to her after such a short time baffled him and he didn't think he could stay in control.

"I'll concede to your point only if you let me walk you down to your car."

"Thank you, kind sir."

"I want you to call me when you get home, lock all the doors and windows and call me early tomorrow morning."

"I still want to see you tomorrow," she reminded him.

"Absolutely."

His phone buzzed again. "Garcia, I'm in the middle – "

"Spencer," she shouted over him. "You need to _listen_ to me, _now_."

He stopped talking because he'd never heard her speak in such a way. "What's wrong?"

Chriscelia watched him speak. She saw his face pale, then go red with anger. She realized that he spoke to his friend Garcia and she began to understand the gist of their conversation. Her hands shook and she fought the urge to go to him and hug him for comfort.

"Yes," she heard him say. "When? Yes, we'll stay here. Thank you, Garcia. Yes, I'll lock the door. Penelope, I _promise_ we'll be okay. Yes, I'll call you soon."

He shut his phone and looked at Chriscelia. "Did you get any of that?"

"He's here?"

Her words dropped like stones into deep dark water. Her eyes were haunted, her hands shook, but she met his gaze.

"Yes, Garcia tracked him down and traced his phone. He's somewhere on the premises, probably waiting for you outside."

She sat heavily and for a minute he thought she might breakdown completely. "We're safe here. He doesn't know who I am."

"How did he get here?"

"He probably followed you."

"God! No one's safe anywhere, are they, Spencer."

He went to her and pulled her into his arms. "You _are_ safe here. I will _not_ let anything happen to you. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

He stroked her hair with one hand. "JJ, Emily and Luke are on their way. Luckily there is an entrance at the back of the building. He won't see them. They'll come in soft, with back up from SWAT. Believe me those guys know how to be stealthy if they must. Tara and Rossi are going to his place."

"What happens when they get here."

"Don't worry, Chriscelia. I've got a plan."

He released her, went to his desk, opened the top drawer, and removed his gun. He checked the revolver's chamber, snapped it back into place, and slipped into its holster. He picked up his badge and put it in a pocket.

When he looked at Chriscelia, her eyes were huge and terrified. "It's real, isn't it."

"Yes," he said. "It's real."


	6. Chapter 6

**_Disclaimer: see my profile._**

 ** _A/n I'd like to thank everyone that has read and commented on "Send in the Clones," the fan_** ficiton ** _system won't let me thank you individually, so I want to say thanks here. Please enjoy this chapter._**

A knock at Spencer's door twenty minutes later made Chriscelia jump. Spencer smiled at her, but he removed his gun from his holster and stood to one side of the door.

"Who's there?" Spencer demanded.

"It's us," said a voice she didn't recognize.

He put his gun away and opened the door. Chriscelia watched as three people entered the apartment, two women and one man.

"Chriscelia, these are some of my team." He indicated a tall, beautiful brunette to his right. "This is Emily Prentiss, my Unit Chief."

"Hello."

"It's nice to meet you."

Chriscelia shook her hand. "I'm glad you're here."

"Don't worry. We're going to make sure this guy can't hurt you or Spencer."

"This is JJ," Reid went on.

Another woman, a pretty blond with long hair and deep blue eyes, shook her hand. "It's so good to meet the woman that's making Spence smile these days."

"I hope I haven't scared him away."

"You haven't, trust me." JJ winked at Spencer, who smiled back.

"This is Luke Alvez, the newest member of our team."

Alvez nodded to her. "Good to meet you."

"So," Emily got them back on track. "Everyone's in place. Let's take this creep down."

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He watched as she finally left the apartment building. He got out of his car as quietly as he could and hurried across the parking lot. She opened the door to her car and tossed in a bag to the passenger seat. He snuck up on quiet feet and reached her just as she was about to get into the car.

"Hello, Chriscelia," he said and shoved a gun into her back. "You've made me wait, little girl. I'm going to make you pay for that. Now get in the car and don't move or I'll shoot you dead."

"I don't think so," a man he didn't recognize stepped out of the shadows with another woman he didn't know. "Put down the gun, LaSalle.

Jimmy LaSalle froze in his tracks. No, it's not right. He was supposed to take Chriscelia with him, and they'd be happy together after he taught her the rules. This wasn't in the rules! "No," he shouted.

"You're surrounded," said the woman with dark hair. "If you pull the trigger, we'll shoot you dead."

 _No_ , he couldn't die. It wasn't right. He had to live because if anything happened to him, then Chriscelia would die too. He had to save her from herself and all the people that wanted to hurt her. His hand faltered and his gun began to lower. Chriscelia turned as quick as a snake, and he found himself on the ground with her gun on his face, and his was gone. _How?_ Then he saw that it wasn't Chriscelia, it was a woman he didn't know. "Who are you?" He wailed. "Where is Chriscelia?"

"James LaSalle, you're under arrest for threatening a federal officer and carrying an illegally concealed. You have the right to remain silent."

He began to cry like a small child when Luke lifted him to his feet, and JJ continued to read him his rights. Emily shook her head. "Get him out of here," she instructed one of the locals.

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The second-time Emily knocked on Spencer's door; he opened it eagerly. "Emily?"

Emily smiled broadly at him. "It's over. We took him without a shot."

Chriscelia sat heavily on his sofa. "I can't believe it."

"I'm so happy for you both," Emily continued and hugged Spencer tight.

"Thanks."

"I'll let you two talk," Emily said, "See you on Tuesday, Spencer."

He nodded and saw her to the door. "Thank you again, Emily. I can't believe you guys did this for us. Tell JJ thanks and to give Henry and Michael a hug for me."

"I will."

He shut the door and turned back to Chriscelia. "It's over."

"Yeah."

He could see that she stared at his chess set instead of looking at him. "You okay."

"Yes. In fact, I want to go home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I want to sleep in my bed without worrying about a psycho wanting to kill me."

He nodded. "I'm going with you."

"Spencer…"

"I'm following you home, or I'll send a black and white with you. Which do you prefer?"

She rolled her eyes. "I guess I should thank you, even if you're taking overprotective to new heights."

"I think I've earned the right."

She went to him and hugged him tight. "I'm _so_ glad I ran into you at the airport. You saved me."

"No, _you_ saved me."

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Spencer talked her into allowing him to go inside and clear her apartment, just to be sure. She agreed because, in truth, she didn't want him to leave. Fear had settled over her heart on the drive home, and she felt like she had to sit down or faint.

"You okay," Spencer asked when he reentered the living area.

She nodded, and it didn't register that he'd just seen her entire home, including her messy work area and her unmade bed.

"I'm fine."

Chriscelia sat on the edge of her couch and began to shake. She hugged her arms to her chest. How could she have failed to see the threat? She should have known. How could she not know someone stalked her?

"Chriscelia?"

His voice sounded like it came from far away. She stared into nothing, didn't see the black and white photograph of a lonely country road the led away from her until it disappeared, hanging on her apartment wall. She didn't see the sapphire blue suede upholstered sofa upon which she sat, and her eyes didn't register that Spencer sat next to her, his lovely eyes full of concern and wariness.

"Chriscelia?"

Maybe she should quit writing. If she didn't draw attention to herself, she couldn't be hurt. This time, it had ended well, but what about the _next_ time? There wouldn't be the next time; she'd make sure of it.

She felt hands on her shoulders and jerked away, keening like a small animal in soul wrenching pain. "Leave me alone?"

"It's okay, Chriscelia."

Something soft surrounded her, and the familiar scent of her favorite blanket enveloped her. It didn't register to think that he'd somehow known she needed it, the last thing her mother had made before her death. She hugged it close and tried to stop shivering, but it was like she'd stepped outside on a bitter day without a coat. _So_ cold!

"You're in shock, Chriscelia."

He kept saying her name as though she were someone special. How could she be someone special when a monster like James LaSalle wanted her? There _had_ to be something wrong with her.

Spencer hugged her and hands rubbed up and down her arms. She tried to pull away, but the hands wouldn't let her.

"It's okay. Let it out."

Her breathed hitched out, and tears welled in her eyes. "I don't – I wish – w-why did he w-want to h-hurt me? W-what's w-wrong with m-me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, Chriscelia. You're kind, gentle, honest; you don't pull punches. I like that about you."

Her eyes refocused, and she tried to stop her tears, but all she could think about was that she nearly fell prey to someone that wanted to kill her for no good reason other than she wrote a couple of best-selling books.

"Why, Spencer?"

She heard him sigh; then he was quiet for a moment. "I don't know, Chriscelia. I can tell you it's going to be okay, and I wouldn't be lying, but I know that's not what you want to hear right now."

She sagged against him. "I'm scared."

"I know."

"Don't go away."

"I won't."

They sat together for a long time. She breathed in the scent of him that was part lingering coffee and something unidentifiable that comforted her. She lifted her head and looked at his face for the first time since they'd returned to his apartment. "I'm sorry," she squeaked.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," he stroked her hair.

"Yes, I do. I reminded you of the _worst_ time in your life. You should hate me."

"I don't hate you. I like you, very much, and I want us to start over and get to know each other properly."

She snorted out laughter. "I think I know more about you than you intended to reveal at this stage."

He smiled and rubbed circles on her back. "Let's just say it happened much faster than I wanted, but I'm happy that you know."

She pulled away from him and looked up. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. It feels like a ton of weight off my shoulders."

She smiled tremulously. "I'm glad."

"You know this is going to get better? Spencer repeated. "I know it's a cliché, but it's true."

She sighed. "I know you're trying to help, but I feel like I should've known, Spencer. I should've looked around me occasionally instead of burying my head in my writing."

"Hey."

She met his eyes reluctantly. "Spencer."

"Don't," he said and kissed the tip of her nose. "None of this is your fault! Just because you're a bestselling author, doesn't mean that your public property. You're _entitled_ to your privacy. You have the right to expect that people like LaSalle will respect your wishes to live your life."

"Well, he _is_ unstable," she said. "You're the one that pointed that out to me."

"True," he said and sighed heavily. "Trust me when I say that you can't blame yourself for what a deranged individual does."

"I know."

They sat for a while, just listening to the silence in her apartment. She finally pulled away from Spencer. "I'm tired, but I'm still freaked out."

"I should go."

"No. Please don't leave me."

She pulled him in for a kiss, which sent her blood pounding through her gut and to her head. She pushed her hands between them and tried to undo the buttons of the shirt he wore.

"No," he pushed away, reluctantly. His breath heaved in his chest, and his face flushed. "I can't, I won't take advantage of you."

She hung her head. "You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

He pulled her into a hug. "It's normal for you to feel the need for intimacy after an experience such as you just had, which is why I should go."

"Please don't go. I'm scared. _Stay_ here."

She watched him think about it and the expression on his face made her smile again, despite her fear of anything that might be out in the dark, wanting to hurt her.

"Your couch is extremely comfortable." Spencer finally conceded.

"It's long enough for you."

He patted her eleven-foot sectional sofa. "Yes, it is."

She rolled her eyes at the look on his face. "I like to be comfortable when I indulge in a Star Wars Marathon."

"You like Star Wars," his face lit up.

"Use the force, Luke. Let go, Luke," she said in her best Alec Guinness impression.

He laughed merrily, and she felt more of her fear lift at the sound. "Good one."

"Thank you, kind sir."

They studied each other for a minute, then she stood. "I'll get you a pillow and a couple of blankets."

He watched her walk away, then looked around her living area. She had dove-grey carpet and walls painted to match. He liked the black and white photographs on the walls and the bookcase that took up the north wall. He went over to it and began to peruse her titles.

"Trying to profile me by my books."

He jumped and turned to see her with pillows and a comfortable looking duvet in her arms. She smiled at him, and he couldn't help but grin back.

"No, just curious. What does a best-selling author read? I see you have quite a selection."

"Yes," she yawned.

He took the pillows and duvet from her. He turned her around. "Go to bed, Chriscelia. We'll talk in the morning."


	7. Chapter 7

**_Disclaimer: see my profile_**

 ** _A/n here is the final chapter. I am working on a sequel that delves deeper into Reid and Chriscelia's relationship. Thank you all for your support. Merry Christmas._**

Spencer blinked his eyes against the bright light pouring in the window opposite where he slept. He stretched, and for one minute wondered where he lay. Then he remembered the night before and Jimmy LaSalle.

The smell of coffee permeated his nostrils, which made him smile and attempt to put aside his doubts about staying in the home of someone he just met. Spencer stretched again and stood to find the source of the coffee and Chriscelia.

In the kitchen, he found her sitting at the table, with her head bent over a tablet in front of her. Chriscelia had her wavy hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, and wore a different set of glasses.

"Hi, Chriscelia," he said quietly.

Spencer hadn't thought about her response to his greeting, even though he should have realized. Chriscelia jumped and flinched away from his voice.

"I'm sorry," he said calmly when her head snapped up and fear filled her lovely hazel eyes. "I didn't think."

"I didn't hear you. Sorry for freaking out."

"You didn't freak out, and there's no reason for you to apologize."

Chriscelia nervously sipped from her coffee cup. Spencer stayed on his feet and waited for her to speak first.

"I don't know what to say to you."

"May I sit?"

"Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry."

"You're apologizing again."

Chriscelia opened her mouth, closed it, and started again. "Um, would you like some coffee?"

"Sure, thank you."

"You're welcome." She jumped up and hurried to the busy coffee maker.

Spencer sighed under his breath because he could see her hands shaking, and her shoulders hunched inside the gray sweatshirt she wore with faded blue jeans and pink fluffy slippers. He didn't know what to say. What could he say that _wouldn't_ make it worse?

"How do you like it?" Chriscelia asked without turning to face him.

"Sugar and cream, please."

When she put the coffee in front of him and sat without a word, Spencer sighed again. "I'm not sure what to say, Chriscelia. Asking you if you're okay, seems vastly insensitive and inappropriate."

Chriscelia swallowed hard, and Spencer could see she was on the verge of tears. "I don't know why I'm so upset," she said quietly. "He's in jail. He can't hurt me."

Spencer wanted to inch closer, to try and give her some comfort, but he held back. Chriscelia held her coffee cup as though it were a lifeline. She hunched over it and kept her eyes on the table.

"No," Spencer began. "He can't hurt you physically, but he'll be in your head for a good while."

Chriscelia nodded and slowly lifted her eyes to him. She took off her glasses and rubbed them with both hands. Despite their redness, Spencer thought they were the most beautiful pair of eyes he'd ever seen, with little flecks of gold, and a band of sea-green around the irises.

"I couldn't sleep. I've been up since five, sitting in here and thinking about my life. My parents are gone, my brother lives across the country, and I don't have any friends to speak of."

"Chriscelia."

"It's true. All my friends from school are scattered around the country. I see most of them on Facebook, and we message occasionally, but after what happened, I don't think I'll stay active on social media. I mean, what if I'd never met you. What if we hadn't run into each other?"

"I don't think- "

"What if we hadn't felt this connection?" She moved her hand back and forth between them and continued as if she didn't hear his interruption. "What if you were some ordinary guy, instead of an FBI agent with the resources to track down a guy like LaSalle? Do you realize he could have kidnapped and done who knows _what_ to me, and no one would've noticed or cared until it was too late?"

"Chriscelia!"

"I talk to my brother maybe once a month. My parents are gone, but even when they were alive, I never talked to my dad, and I'd talk to my mother about once a week. I don't speak to my agent or my editor every day. You _tell_ me, Spencer, what my chances would have been without you?"

"Not good," Spencer said as Chriscelia bit her lower lip. Tears flooded her eyes, and she began to sob. "I'm sorry," he said and reached out for her hand.

"No," she hitched out a breath but didn't take his hand. "I asked you, and you told me. I should face the fact that I need to make some life changes."

"I know you won't believe this, but I do know how you feel. I had very few friends before I joined the BAU. Now, I have a family, people that care about me, but it didn't happen easily. I had, or should say still have trust issues, to a certain extent."

"But, you're smart, and handsome and wonderful. Everyone cares about you. I could see it in the faces of your team when they arrived last night. Someone would _notice_ if something happened to you."

Spencer didn't try to argue with her. She needed to figure it out on her own, and if she wanted to vent, then he'd let her vent, even if he did not agree with her assessment of his life. There were still things she didn't know and now wasn't the time.

"Do you know I told my dad on his deathbed that I'd finally succeeded, that I'd made something of myself, even though he never believed in me? I told him that even though I never understood why he refused to see me as an adult and capable, that I forgave him. Then I go back to living my life the way I always have, a loner that lives in her head too much and would rather pour all of her heart and soul in fictional characters."

"I could tell you, you're too hard on yourself, that you just came through a terrible ordeal alive, and that everything will look better with time, but I won't," Spencer said. "Instead, I have another idea."

Chriscelia simply stared at him. "What?"

"First, are you all right, if I leave for a couple of hours. I have a surprise in mind for you."

He saw fear, but also relief in her eyes. "Yeah, I'll be fine, but you don't have to do anything for me, Spencer. Go home and enjoy your day off."

"I'll be back in a couple of hours," he insisted. "I can't think of anything I'd rather do than spend time with you."

Chriscelia stood and walked him to her door. He kissed her cheek before leaving. "I'll see you later."

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Chriscelia took a long bath and did her hair before changing into jeans and a sweater. She resisted the urge to pick up the phone and tell Spencer she'd rather be alone because already she knew him well enough to know he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Exactly two hours later, a knock sounded on her door. Chriscelia drew in a deep breath and opened the door to find Spencer standing there wearing a red Santa hat on his head along with a navy-blue coat and purple scarf. He grinned at her and she felt the weight lift off her shoulders, and she laughed with real delight.

"Get in here," she demanded. "What _are_ you doing?"

She noticed he had two large Christmas gift bags in his hands, along with his messenger bag on his shoulder. "Is your vision impaired, I'm Santa Claus," Spencer said with a false irritation in his voice.

"Oh, sorry Santa. I mistook you for this guy I met at the airport the other day. Perhaps you know him, his name is Dr. Spencer Reid."

"Ho, ho, ho, Spencer Reid. He's not here, not today."

"Aren't you _awfully_ busy at the North Pole."

"No, it's my traditional vacation week before I have to start preparing for next year."

"Why don't you sit down, Santa Claus."

"Thank you."

Spencer Claus did sit. He gave her the first bag. "I heard you've been an extremely well-behaved girl."

Chriscelia's eyebrows went up. "You _did_?"

"Yes. Merry Christmas."

Chriscelia pulled out red and white tissue paper from the bag and found several items inside. A can of Steven's Hot Chocolate mix - dark chocolate, her favorite – a brand new journal, a pair of pink, fuzzy earmuffs and an envelope which contained two movie tickets.

"Wow, tickets for Rogue One."

"You can use them today or another day if you want," Spencer Claus said.

" _Wait,_ how did you know Dark Chocolate is my favorite?"

"I'm Santa Claus."

"Spencer!"

He took off his Santa hat, and she resisted the urge to run her fingers through his sexy, wavy hair. "I profiled you a bit. It's a hazard of the job and difficult to turn off."

"Why the fuzzy pink earmuffs?"

"Because you have matching slippers. I surmised you only wear them when you need comfort."

"What about the journal?"

"I saw one on your desk in your room last night when I cleared the apartment. Don't worry," he said when her eyes snapped with annoyance. "I didn't read anything."

"You _are_ amazing."

"I'm concerned about you," Spencer said truthfully. "I wanted you to feel better."

"I do," Chriscelia touched her hand to his cheek. "I didn't want you to come back at first, but then you show up with all of this and I'm overwhelmed."

"It's not all, I also brought a bottle of sparkling cider, and some take out for lunch. I thought we could watch a movie here, or we can go see Rogue One."

"Who says I want to share the tickets with you?" Chriscelia teased.

"Oh, you better watch out, or Santa will leave coal in your stocking next year."

"I'm not afraid of Santa," she said.

They sat still for a minute, just studying each other. Chriscelia said. "I know I should go out, sort of jump back on the horse, but do you mind if we stay here and have a Star Wars marathon. I'm not ready for the big _bad_ world yet."

"I think that's an amazing idea."

I'll put the cider in the fridge, while you make us some hot chocolate to go with the popcorn."

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It was dark again when Spencer stretched and stood up. "I better go.'

Chriscelia smiled at the mess of popcorn, empty mugs, take out bags, and glasses that had held the cider, on her coffee table. "Thank you for all of this, Spencer. I had a good time."

"Me too."

Chriscelia sighed and stood. She surprised him by hugging him tight. He responded and held her for a long time. "I was thinking while shopping today," he said into her shoulder.

She pulled back. "What?"

"My favorite Christmas carol is "I'll be Home for Christmas."

"Why?"

Chriscelia watched his eyes go wistful and sad. "I guess I always dreamed that one day my mother might receive a miracle and she'd be well. Had this fantasy that I'd wake up, go downstairs and find her healed and my dad there next to the Christmas tree. Later, when I was an adult, I always thought in the back of my mind that one day she'd come home from Bennington and be free of her condition. It took me years to realize that fantasy wasn't going to come true."

"Spencer…"

"It's okay," he assured her. "I know her condition won't change. I can do everything I can to help her, get her into studies, talk to experts and doctors, but at the end of the day, I have to accept that it is what it is."

"I wish there was something I could do to help."

"You _have_. I know I might sound a bit unstable, and I'm sorry after what's happened to you, but I do feel like I've come home since I met you."

"It's not crazy, and you're not unstable. You're not going to frighten me away, Spencer. I know we've only known each other for a few days, but I _do_ understand what you're trying to say."

"I don't believe in love at first sight. It's not logical."

Chriscelia laughed at the confusion in his eyes. "Love isn't logical. It just is."

"I don't love you," Spencer insisted, "but I do care for you tremendously. Is that okay?"

She smiled, and it lit up her face like sunshine on fresh, white snow. "It's completely okay because I feel the same way."

He kissed her, then pulled away with a frown. "I think I better leave."

She raised her eyebrows. "You _sure_ about that."

"No, but we need to slow down, and take time."

"I don't want to agree with you, but you are right."

"See you very soon?"

"I'm going to hold you to that, Spencer Claus."

 _ **THE END**_


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